


Not Hungover

by emetsketeers



Series: literally just puke [2]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Emetophilia, Gen, puke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-05-01 03:11:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5189912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emetsketeers/pseuds/emetsketeers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Porthos is not hungover. (Porthos is in fact hungover.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Hungover

**Author's Note:**

> As always comments are accepted but please no kinkshaming. 
> 
> Little poop in this one too but not descriptively because that isn't my personal thing.

Porthos is not hungover. He just isn’t. Yes, his head is a little woozy and yes, his stomach is definitely unsettled, but he’s not fucking hungover, he’s just a little off-kilter, and honestly it’s probably the fault of that enormous burger just as much as it is all the alcohol. Although, there was a lot of alcohol. Tequila shots followed by tequila sunrises, and then a big bottle of sweet cherry wine. At the time the sweetness had been heavenly. Now he wants to gag every time he remembers the taste of it.

He forces himself out of bed around 7. Not even after a long night of drinking has he ever been able to sleep in that much. He toddles to the bathroom, pisses, and brushes his teeth, not thinking about how if he crouched down in front of the toilet and just let his body do its thing he could probably definitely vomit right now.

But he doesn’t _need_ to, so he _isn’t_ hungover.

He teeters into the kitchen and drinks a glass of cold water, which probably isn’t the best idea in the world, but he knows he needs it. Then he curls up on the sofa and tries to look well.

His stomach won’t stop gurgling, though. He doesn’t need to puke but yeah, it’s becoming clearer and clearer that he needs to shit, pretty much now.

By the time he finds the strength to rise it’s kind of an emergency situation, and so he sprints back to the bathroom and slams the door behind him and sits down on the toilet just in time.

There. He feels worlds better now. Not hungover. Just suffering the effects of a massive cheeseburger.

His stomach gurgles a little, and all right, he didn’t think this would be a one-off shit… but the gurgle doesn’t move down. It moves up.

Porthos burps. It’s in that very instant that he knows there’s something wrong, because the burp is sour and wet and brings up a couple of splatters with it.

He needs to puke. Oh shit, he needs to puke, like, now.

The diarrhea isn’t finished with him, though, and so he does the only thing he can think to do and grabs the little bathroom trashcan from the floor. It’s a grave indignity, puking atop floss and q-tips, but he really doesn’t have a choice. His stomach hurts terribly now. He pulls the rim of the trashcan to his mouth and parts his lips.

A hot, sour burst of yellowish vomit purges from his mouth. It tastes like nothing but pure stomach acid, though it’s not entirely liquid. Though it was a decent-sized gush his stomach doesn’t feel anywhere near empty. He spits into the trashcan and waits for the next round.

He doesn’t have to wait long. There’s an agonizing cramp in his guts, and then with a little whimper Porthos shits and pukes at the same time, not even sure which end which noise is coming from anymore, and he coughs at the taste of the vomit, and the coughing makes him vomit again. His nose is stinging; puke has been coming out of it as well. There’s hardly a single opening that isn’t voiding. Oh god. Oh god he’s so fucking hungover, he’s so fucking sick, his stomach hurts so fucking bad…

Both ends explode at the same time again, and this time the puke is not the same runny yellow stuff but whatever’s left of that fucking burger that he’d relished so drunkenly, and the thicker, almost creamy puke drops out of his mouth and into the trashcan so slowly that he has no choice but to think about the texture as it passes over his tongue.

Mercifully that seems to be the end of it.

He cleans puts the trashcan to the side, cleans himself up a little, then can see no other course of action than climbing directly into the shower and curling up under the heat of the water. The steam soothes his pounding head, but standing has made his stomach ache again, and he braces against the side of the shower and dry-heaves violently. There’s nothing coming up. He turns slowly to face the stream of water, swallows some down, then gulps some air, trying to work up a decent belch. After a moment he manages to, and one last gush of vomit pours out of his mouth and down his chest. He lets the water wash it away then sits down on the floor of the tub and lets the water stream over all of him.

It’s impossible not to relax beneath it, and before long Porthos realizes that his stomach feels worlds better now.

There. Only a little hungover, then.

**Author's Note:**

> Next one I post shall be actually porny, I promise.


End file.
